


Tumblr Ficlets

by xpityx



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Men's Hockey RPF, Star Wars: Rebels, The Terror (TV 2018), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-11-12 11:20:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18009965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpityx/pseuds/xpityx
Summary: Just a place to dump these, as I don't trust Tumblr not to randomly delete stuff (Black Sails ficlets arehere)1: Witcher: Geralt/Emhyr MCD2. The Terror: Francis Crosier/James Fitzjames - kinkmeme prompt3. The Terror: Francis Crosier/James Fitzjames - art inspiration4. OMGCP/Hockey RPF: Zimbits, Sid/Geno - oblivious boyfriends5. The Terror: Francis Crosier/James Fitzjames - Fairytale AU6. MCU: James 'Bucky' Barnes - celebrating Sukkot7. The Terror: Francis Crosier/James Fitzjames - Fairytale AU II8. The Terror: Francis Crosier/James Fitzjames - undressing9. Star Wars Rebels: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb 'Zeb' Orrelios





	1. Geralt/Emhyr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for your otp thing: who dies and who destroys a whole city in grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this tumblr [prompt](http://delfeur.tumblr.com/post/126365304776/for-your-otp-thing-who-dies-and-who-destroys-)

Geralt dies in Spring, which seems wrong somehow. The growing green and singing birds are an agony Emhyr cannot bear.

He thinks of the Empire he has built for Cirilla, of how hard he has worked, how much he has sacrificed to give her something stable—a lasting legacy. He thinks of his armies, of his treaties and tithes. He thinks of those trusted few who have followed him through multitudes of campaigns.

He thinks of the village where Geralt was injured, and the town where he was cared for, the men and women who worked to try and save him. He thinks of those who gave him coin, those who pointed the way to the creature that gave him the fatal injury.

Emhyr calls the Captain of the Imperial Guard to him.

Burn it, he says, and salt the ground.

 

 


	2. Fitzier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mini fic for an excellent prompt on The Terror Kinkmeme: “I want to see Crozier telling James about his plan to promote Jopson. After Morfin dies they need something good to plan, and clearly James isn’t surprised by the promotion the next day. Maybe James has been a tiny bit envious of Crozier’s fondness for Jopson and Crozier reassures him. Just some cuddling and huddling for warmth and openness that sharing a sleeping space brings between our two favorite captains.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Original prompt](https://terrorkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/396.html?thread=108684#cmt108684)

“We need another Lieutenant.”  
  
“Yes, absolutely. I will send a letter to the Admiralty tomorrow requesting further men,” James replied from beside him, burrowed into his blankets with his eyes firmly shut.  
  
Francis gave him an exasperated look regardless.  
  
“I was thinking of promoting Jopson.”  
  
“Jopson?” James said, finally opening his eyes. He didn’t look at Francis though, merely contemplated the shadows of the tent for a moment before shutting them once again.  
  
“Good,” he added, shortly. “He is a good man.”  
  
Francis opened his mouth, then closed it, instead getting to his knees so he could push his bedroll so it lay flush beside James’.  
  
“What are you doing?” James asked.  
  
“I am reassuring a stupid man,” he replied, burying his arm under the blankets and pulling him close.  
  
James sighed, but moved until he was more comfortably tucked against Francis. They would have to move apart before the rest of the camp awoke, but for now they closed their eyes against the cold and dark and slept.

 

 


	3. Fitzier II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [goodsir-is-such-a-good-boy's phenomenal art](http://goodsir-is-such-a-good-boy.tumblr.com/post/182348648703/missing-scene-for-theendofvanity).

Francis reached up and brushed away something from James’ cheek. A tear, he realised. He felt another spill over and follow the same track down to soak into Francis’ gloved hand where it lay against his face. James tried to blink them away, forcing himself to meet Francis’ eyes and searching for the censorship he expected to find, but he found nothing but acceptance—of his tears, his story—he didn’t know what, but he welcomed it all the same. 

Almost unconscious of his actions, he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Francis’ lips: as a benediction; a thank you; a seal of their friendship. James pulled back sharply, the sudden realisation of what he had done and with a denial on the tip of his tongue. 

But Francis only stroked a gloved finger over his cheek, and leaned back in.

 

 


	4. Sid/Geno, Zimbits

AGHH! I want Sid and Jack to be friends so much! They’d talk about their diet in really serious tones all the time and then Jack would mention Bitty or Sid would mention Geno and there would be an awkward pause because neither of them are out to each other, but equally they’re both totally shite at social cues so would never pick up the fact that they’re always mentioning their other halves.

It takes 12 seconds of Geno and Bitty being in the same room for them to work out that they’re dating Sid and Jack, respectively.

\--

Bitty: Nice to meet you!   
Geno: You too, you make good maple apple pies.   
Bitty: Aww, aren’t you sweet? I’ll tell you what, you tell me how you make your grandmother’s Ptichie Moloko and I will bake you whichever pie you like.   
Geno: Is deal.   
….  
Geno: How you know about grandmother Ptichie Moloko?  
Bitty: How do you know about my maple crust apple pies?   
….  
Bitty: Bless my soul.

 

 


	5. Fitzier Fairytale AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitzier Fairytale AU, from [this prompt](http://terribleoldwhitemen.tumblr.com/post/183247659545/pssst-fitzier-fairytale-au-which-ones-under) that I hijacked.

Francis is not under a curse, this is just the way he is. Of course he doesn’t like being miserable, he doesn’t like always seeing the deaths of all around him without being able to see the good, but that’s just the way of it and there’s no use crying over it. Anyway, even if it was a curse, who would bother to save him? He’s lived with his Sight for over forty years and he imagines he’ll live with it until his own death comes for him.

 

It earns him no friends in the small village, but sometimes someone will come from far away to seek his help. Usually it’s some young folk who wants to know if some great evil will befall them on their quest, or someone old and frail who wants to see their end. Sometimes he sees a long life and a quiet death, and sometimes he sees terrors he has no words for, but he always tells the truth of what he sees.

 

The man who arrives outside his cottage a week after his 43rd birthday is neither young nor old. His dark hair is pulled back with a strip of leather, and the brass buttons on his coat catch the light as he jumps lightly from his horse. There is something otherworldly about him, and his eyes are cold and blue.

 

“The village is a little further on,” he says, hoping the man just is looking for directions.

 

The man raises his eyebrows, “and how do you know that it is the village I seek and not your skills?”

 

“You’re too old for adventuring, but too young to be wondering if your death is near,” Francis replies, bluntly. Then man’s eyebrows rise further, but one cheek dimples in a slight smile.

 

“Perhaps I only ask for my guest rights?” He says, dimples deepening.

 

Francis is suspicious of course—he was taught to be wary of Otherings and the forms they take—but he can hardly turn away a guest, even one as strange as this.

 

He nods for the man to follow him into the little cottage.

 

Three days and three nights the man stays. He doesn’t give his name, so Francis keeps his to himself as well. No-one had seen a Fair One for over a hundred years, but their half offspring are just as dangerous and Francis is a wary man.

 

They eat their food together and at night Francis curls up in the corner while his guest takes the bed. They do not touch, and Francis finds himself being extra careful - half-Othering or not, he does not want to see this stranger’s death. In the evenings he tells such stories that even Francis smiles once or twice, and on the fourth morning he feels he is sorry to see the man leave.

 

“Three days and three nights,” the man comments over breakfast, “such strange guest customs you humans have.”

 

Francis swallows his fear along with a mouthful of tea.

 

“You’re Fey,” he says, softly.

 

“I am Fey,” the creature confirms, sipping his own tea. “It is strange, this is the first time I have said those words aloud to a human, but I have found I have enjoyed your company very much.”

 

Francis had never thought himself a coward before, for all that he had hidden himself and his Sight away all these years, but he knows himself for one now.

 

“I cannot—” he says, “I cannot stand to see your death.”

 

“Francis,” the Old One, says, “I am Fey, and we do not die.”

 

Then he steps around the table and pulls Francis into a kiss, and Francis sees no horror, no death of this strange creature that he has come to love: only an endless white expanse, stretching away to the horizon. 

 

 


	6. Jewish!Bucky Barnes

Bucky loved Sukkot as a kid. His mama would try to be upbeat, and she’d always whisper with him all the things they should be grateful for just before they went to sleep. He could never avoid work like he was supposed to, but his mama said that _HaShem_ understood. They couldn’t build a Sukkot at home, not least cause they didn’t have the room, but they went to the one set up at the Synagogue and ate challah with a tiny drop of honey, or sugar if there was no honey to be had. 

When he first came back, he wasn’t very good at dates. Months sped by and days crawled. Steve must’ve remembered though, cause as it got dark on September 25th he called Bucky and everyone up to the roof where there was the most precarious Sukkot he’d ever seen: balsa wood and green fronds leaning dangerously in the wind. 

It held up for the whole seven days. 

 

 


	7. Fitzier Fairytale AU II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From this [prompt](http://xpityx.tumblr.com/post/183363093857/if-youd-like-more-fairytale-au-please)

 

They share the bed that night, and Francis is afraid his unpractised fumblings will not measure up, but there is something easy between them and he falls asleep sated and sure. 

Francis asks his name the next morning and is given a list in reply: _Iakobos, Hacob, Ya’kov, Jakša, Jaak, James._

“Which one is true?” Francis asks.

The Fey gives a lazy shrug, “depends when and where you’re asking about.”

Francis picks James. 

They travel rather than wait for villagers with pitchforks to come to the cottage with the creature that cannot die and the man that sees only death. They go to places Francis had never known existed: dusty, hot places where the language is a song that falls easily from James’ lips; high, cold places where there is always snow. 

He stands on the porch of their little house one morning and thinks of the frozen river higher up the mountain that James calls a _glacier._ When he dies he would like to be buried in it, perhaps, if such a thing were possible: encased in it’s cold grip for the rest of time.

James comes up behind him and wraps him in his arms, his breath on his neck where he kisses him making Francis shudder.

“Not yet, my love,” he says, as if he is privy to Francis’ musings.

“Not yet,” Francis agrees.

 

 


	8. Fitzier - undressing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From this [prompt](http://xpityx.tumblr.com/post/183368793862/i-hope-you-feel-better-3-fizitier-undressing-or)

 

James struggled for a moment with his cuffs, the slight tremor of his hands betraying the nameless anxiety that pulled at him from time to time. Francis was already down to his undershirt, his habit of ignoring the privileges of his station meant he had plenty of practice at undressing without a valet. 

They did have a valet, in fact: an excellent man named Mr Colin who had been suggested by Miss Cracroft. The village they lived on the edge of was small enough that it was not commented on that the two bachelors in the old Smith cottage sent their servants home at 9pm on the dot each night. 

James tugged at the buttons that held his cuffs so firmly, wondering if he was quick he could snap the cotton that fastened them before Francis noticed he was still in his shirt. It would be easier to sew them back on when his mind was a little calmer he imagined. 

Too late he looked up in time to see Francis taking a step towards him, his nightshirt untied at the neck so that James was caught for a moment by the swath of bare chest it revealed. 

Then Francis reached him and took first one arm then the other into his competent hands, unfastening the buttons with care that he never afforded his own shirts. James put on a cheerful look for when Francis inevitably looked at him with unnecessary sympathy. They, all of them who had come back, had bought a little of the Arctic darkness with them. Francis’ simply lived further inside his head than James’. 

Francis didn’t look up though, he only took the shirt to the wardrobe to hang it up, affording James the privacy to let his mask slide away. 

James finished the rest well enough, pulling on a nightshirt and climbing into the space that Francis had left for him in their bed. They faced each other, though it was too dark to make out any details, he could see the gleam of Francis’ eyes. James took an unsteady breath, then reached his shaking hands into the warm space between them for Francis’. 

Francis held on, steady and sure, until sleep claimed them.

 


	9. Star Wars Rebels - Kalluzeb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Star Wars Rebels: Kalluzeb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually writing a slightly longer fic about these two, but this occurred to me while I was working today.

 

“Are you supposed to bleed this much?”

“Shut up and pass me that bacta.”

Zeb ignored his demand, bending to place it on the nasty cut on Alex’s side himself. His thick fingers were extremely dexterous, slipping the bacta into place with less jostling than Alex could have managed. Alex looked down at him as Zeb smoothed his hand over Alex’s skin, checking for tender spots the way he had seen Zeb check his own, fur covered hide.

Zeb looked up and must have caught something unguarded on Alex’s face, as he grinned suddenly. Alex rolled his eyes at him, but Zeb knew him well enough to see through his bluster.

He was ashamed of himself suddenly, ashamed that even after all this time he couldn’t help but look for the hidden knife, for the next betrayal. That he felt he had to hide his emotions, even from Zeb.

“Why do you do this?” He asked.

Zeb flattened his ears against his skull for a moment, then smiled again: a smaller, private smile.

“Cause I love you, you idiot.”

Alex nodded, not trusting his voice and leaned forward until Zeb got the message and wrapped him in his arms.


End file.
